White Blank Page
by Happy Blue Ink
Summary: Inspired by P.S. I Love You (Prompt credit: Zenofbeingmommy). Letters of words left unspoken and feelings that would never be reciprocated back after death. What did they mean? What did they want? Will love still find a way even when the other isn't around anymore? Current Entry: Daryl's Rant (S2E9)
1. Chapter 1

White Blank Page

Edited by: Amputation

Zenofbeingmommy prompt based on P.S. I Love You. Also, fueled by "White Blank Page" by Mumford and Sons. Oh dear, I don't see this being a one-shot. I think I may be able to squeeze out a few chapters of this.

Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.

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Chapter 1

Daryl's heart was racing, his jaw clenched so hard it hurt as his upper lip curled into a snarl. He should have been there to protect her, but he was there now, the bite deep in her shoulder. She smiled softly at him, lip trembling with each breath she took. Beth was crying and holding Carol's hand, rubbing it gently. Rick stood next to the hunter, eyebrows knitted in anguish and his hand clasped to his mouth, outlining the frown lines with his finger tips.

The Deputy and the Hunter stared sorrowfully at one another. It had to be done. No need to see her suffer like this any longer, they couldn't just let her linger in this state to feel the fever or the loss of herself. It had to be one of them.

"I'm ready," she whispered feebly.

He went stiff at her words, feeling paralyzed by her complete calm. How could she be so strong even with her imminent death? Was she not afraid of what was to come?

Rick motioned to Daryl, indicating that he wanted to be the one to pull the trigger, but the hunter shook his head in protest, kneeling next to her. Beth had already been pulled away by Maggie and Glenn, neither of whom wished to watch, outright refusing to do so. He couldn't blame them. It was hard for him to find the strength to even get to one knee. To even be near her was an aching pain in his heart, ringing of 'should haves' and 'could haves'. It hurt. She shifted and pulled her Smith and Wesson from her hip, handing it over to Daryl. He hesitantly took it, trying not to look at Carol. He couldn't bring himself to make eye contact with her because he knew that if he did, he wouldn't have the courage or strength to pull the trigger. He'd puss out over his feelings. He had to do it. It had to be him to end her life. He wouldn't allow anyone else to do it.

Carol's teeth chattered as she drew increasingly haggard breaths with each passing minute. She gazed at Daryl kneeling in front of her with her gun in his hand. He never looked at her; just stared at the gun. She began to cry. He could hear her sniffling and he wanted to tell her that everything was going to be just fine, that she was going to be okay, but the words were not true. Carol wasn't okay. She wasn't going to get better. This was the end. Daryl swallowed the lump that filled his throat, brows furrowing. Shakily, Carol took his hand in hers and positioned the barrel to her forehead. Daryl's gaze finally met hers and she could clearly see the fear in his eyes. Her eyes were misty but kind and unafraid. He felt a little at ease by her eyes and what they conveyed. She spoke.

"Don't be afraid for me, Daryl. I'm going to be with Sophia. My baby is waiting for me," she murmured, smiling once more.

Daryl shut his eyes and nodded, pulling the hammer back. His finger on the trigger began squeezing little by little. He just needed to pull it a little more and this nightmare would all be over. He wasn't sure if he could do it. He released his finger and the breath he had been holding. He shook his head vehemently. He had never been so unsure of anything in his life, more scared and angry at anything.

Carol gently touched his hand, "You have to let me go now," her voice was hoarse but still so gentle.

She was waiting. Almost as quickly as she had laid her hand on his, he pulled the trigger, the noise echoing throughout the prison like a death rattle. Her hand fell limply against his and it was suddenly over.

* * *

Daryl had been in the guard tower with his back against the wall, legs coiled beneath him while balancing on the balls of his feet, his arms poised over his knees. His crossbow lay abandoned against the wall next to him as a pile of cigarette butts accumulated about the floor next to his boots, scattered haphazardly. He was down to his last cigarette. He swore under his breath as he took a drag, letting a steady stream of smoke out his nostrils.

He'd withdrawn from the group and hadn't come down since Carol… That had been four days ago. He hadn't eaten since then, almost refused to do so. Only when Rick came to hand out his portion of rations did he consider eating. The others had tried to get him to eat but to no avail. He didn't want to be near people, he wanted his solitude. Daryl didn't want them around. Their presences just pissed him off. He felt as he had when they had found Sophia, except somehow this seemed much worse.

A gentle knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and he looked only to see Beth peek around the corner. She had something in hand, but it looked old and ratty: a book of sorts, perhaps?

Her brows were furrowed and her usual thin-lipped smile was missing. She bit her lip, sucking in a small cry as she handed the book out to him. Daryl quirked an eyebrow at the sudden gesture, wondering why she was even offering the ratty thing to him in the first place. What use did he have for some stupid Bible, anyway? Not like he had ever been a religious man to begin with. He wasn't about to start now.

"It's yours. I mean—it's for you," the blonde said softly, "we were going through Carol's things and w-we found this. It was addressed to you."

Daryl shook his head, growling "I don't want it."

Could she not see that this hurt him just as much as it hurt her? Hell, what was she so upset about anyhow? Beth had only gotten to know Carol better after the farm had fallen. She hadn't been there when he was trying to find her little girl in the Georgia woods, nor had she held the grief-stricken woman back when she was running to death itself. She wasn't the one who had gone into the tombs to find Carol and bring her back. Beth hadn't even been the one to hear Carol's cries when the farm fell and he'd rushed to grab her out of harm's way. What could she know about his grieving? Carol had been his only real connection to a family that relied on him and cared about his well-being. None as she had.

"B-b-but," the blonde started, fidgeting, "Carol," the girl swallowed visibly, "sh-sh-she wanted you to have it," Beth finally stammered out.

He huffed. Beth was beginning to get on his nerves with her sniveling. At this point, he just wanted her gone.

"Give me the fuckin' thing then," he snapped, snatching the book from her hands and slamming it next to his crossbow.

Beth stopped chewing her lip and turned to leave. She knew he didn't want her there and took heed of it.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Daryl," she whispered before closing the door and leaving him to wallow in his misery.

Daryl snorted. He continued to sit until the sun started to creep over the tree line, but his attention kept returning to the book Beth had given him several hours ago. He picked it up by the top cover and a petal fell from its pages. He creased his brow and carefully picked it up. Was this a Cherokee rose petal? Curiosity got the better of him and he opened the book to the first page.

_•_ _It's the end of the world and still I feel a need to chronicle the occurrences of my day to day life. If I can at least keep this little bit of humanity left, I think I can hold on and deal with this new world._

_Ed died yesterday. He deserved it. I at least believe he did, laying a hand on my daughter as he did. That hurt worst than all the bruises and cuts he left on me._

_Those things, those walkers got to him. Tore him up like I wished I could. They stole so many lives last night. If we had the other men there, our losses would have been minimal. But we lost them, all for a bag of guns and that redneck, Merle Dixon. Perhaps there would have been more casualties had they not returned at all or with that bag of guns. It's hard to say._

_Ed was one of our losses. As much as I hated Ed, I loved him. I loved that he gave me my baby. He gave me the only thing I have ever cared or loved more than myself. He gave me my Sophia._

_I put a pickaxe through Ed's head today. To take care of our dead, to keep them from coming back as walkers, we have to sever any connection with the brain to the body. At least that's the rationale behind it. Saw the Dixon boy taking the pick axe to the heads of our dead. He struck them with ease. Ed's corpse was next in his row of bodies to take care of and I couldn't bring myself to allow him to do what I should. In love and death, in sickness and in health: those were the vows I took. It had to be me to sever ties._

_I thrust that axe over and over again into the remains of his head. I may not have seen his face, but I knew he watched me, that Dixon boy. He probably thought 'this mousy housewife is going to town on her dead husband.' That's fine. He can judge all he likes. He would never understand what I went through or had to go through. I could feel all my anger, hatred, sadness being let loose each time I brought that axe down. I cannot deny that I felt a weight being lifted from my shoulders but I feel that somewhere deep inside I was mourning him, despite all he'd done to me. I loved him for what he gave me, my Sophia.____•_

Daryl remembered that day. She'd come up to him so meekly, asking to do it herself. He didn't deny her request. Who was he to do such a thing? He may have been an asshole, but not that kind. He'd said not a word and handed over the axe. He'd watched as she slammed it into the bit of head that was left of his corpse. Walkers had made sure to tear his worthless body apart until you could neither recognize nor deny it had been a human being. Carol let out angry grunts as she repeatedly swung the axe into his head.

He understood. He had wanted to do that to his daddy all the years he had been stuck being beat after Merle had taken off and his Mother had passed. He was the only one left for his daddy to take his anger out on. Daryl had seen himself in Carol in that moment, except she had done what he never got to. In that moment, she'd stood out to him. He had never paid her much attention, a quiet mousy thing just as she had mentioned in her journal. But the moment she had asked for that axe and repeatedly swung it into her abusive husband's head until there was nothing left, she had blipped onto his radar and he assumed he had on hers, too.

She always sought him out amongst their group. Her eyes always meeting his, a gentle nod of her head to acknowledge she saw him or soft smile from across a room. That's all it took, but a swing of an axe and an act of relinquishing old turmoil. They were gravitating towards one another and he never thought for one second that it would evolve beyond a kinship of sorts. A mutual understanding that they were both survivors of the abuse by the ones they thought they loved and reciprocated the sentiment.

* * *

**A/N: please let me know how you liked it! Feedback is always welcome, especially on a prompt based fic. Thanks! Also this isn't the only chapter. More to come! Stay tuned and thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

White Blank Page

Edited by: Amputation

I've spent the latter half of today (4/9/13) creating a list of ALL Caryl moments in Season 2 and Season 3... Holy hell is there a lot. So hopefully this can sustain you all for the next few months. Suggestions are always welcome. Let me know if things get stale or Daryl or Carol's characters get too OOC. That's the last thing I want is for Daryl to not be Daryl or Carol to not be Carol. Any-who, summary... Daryl reads more and gets another visitor to the guard tower.

Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.

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Chapter 2

Another knock resounded against the door to the guard tower. He'd heard the gate from down below and knew that someone was coming up to bother him. Again. Daryl looked up from where he sat against the wall and shot a glare at the door. Why didn't he just lock the fucking thing? He had the keys to do it. That would keep them all out of his hair and he would have his time to be alone. No one to bother him, harass him to eat when he didn't want to, or try and ease him back with the rest of them, carrying on as if nothing happened.

Rick stepped through the door and looked to Daryl. His scowl softened slightly, glad it wasn't Beth. He wasn't sure if he could handle having her come up to the tower again, sniveling and begging him to come join them for lunch. Rick dipped his head to Daryl and handed a water bottle out to him. His eyes fell to the water then back to Rick who quirked an eyebrow at him. Daryl sighed and set the arrow bolts he had been whittling down next to his crossbow. He took the drink. He was thirsty, that he couldn't deny. He could deal with hunger, but water he knew he had to have. He'd die of thirst long before he starved to death. He unscrewed the cap and took a long swig of it.

"You've been up here, what," the deputy paused, clearly counting, "almost a week?" he asked cautiously. He had to choose his words carefully; Carol's death was still a fresh open wound for Daryl. He was still volatile. Rick didn't want to say anything that might make him snap, "You ever gonna come down from here?"

Daryl wrinkled his nose in protest. Perhaps he wasn't being clear enough about how serious he was of removing himself from the group temporarily. He screwed the cap back on the water bottle.

"Nope."

Sensing the conversation would get nowhere with Daryl's current attitude, Rick stopped trying to speak any more on the subject.

"Fair enough," he drawled.

Rick moved to the guard rail and leaned against it, admiring the expanse of woods and foliage of the Georgian landscape before him. The cool breeze licked at his face as he watched the walkers clawing at the gate below them, trees talking out in the distance. The two stayed quiet, taking comfort in the others' silence.

"I wasn't there," Daryl said quietly after a brief pause. Rick barely heard the words leave his lips. He turned, and leaned against the rail, back to the woods, facing the brooding redneck.

"It wasn't yer fault," he replied clasping his hands together over his belt buckle, "we both know that. It couldn't have been prevented. Things just happened."

"I should have been there with all of 'em: Asskicker, Carol, Maggie. I should never've left 'em."

Rick shook his head, "You had to. There was no other option. You saw an opportunity and you took it. If it hadn't been for you," he paused sucking in a breath, "the Governor would still be alive and worse things would've happened. Maybe we all would have been killed. Point being, we may have lost more than just Carol. Maybe even Glenn had you not gotten there when you did."

"No one should have died b'sides that sonovabitch and his fuckin' brain-washed cronies!" Daryl snarled in retaliation. His eyes narrowed at Rick, the deputy suddenly feeling uneasy by the hunter's swelling temper.

"Carol knew what she was doing. She was protecting the group. She knew the consequence of her actions. She took a risk, knowing full well the repercussions," Rick placated softly.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders and pulled a knee up. He knew what Rick was trying to do, but no words could ease his troubled mind. Make him feel that what he had done was the right choice in that moment. He felt responsible no matter what he had done to stop this Governor-Mickey Mouse bullshit. Despite having given Rick an opportunity to shoot the Governor when he did, he had left Carol and the others open to walker attacks. Forget the human threat they were facing, walkers were more devastating than people; at least he felt they were. They stole your very essence, made you a soulless monster. He gritted his teeth thinking back on that moment, the many moments he had had to witness people he had grown to care about turn.

"We need you Daryl. You've gotta' come back," the door shut with a soft snick and just like that Rick was gone.

"I ain't gotta do a damned thing," he replied to the empty air, letting out a long sigh.

He brought his fists to his head and began raking them vigorously through his hair. He was a mess. How could he let himself be so torn over a woman? What did they even have? It's not like they had some kind of relationship. They were just—they were just Carol and Daryl, wounded people that gravitated towards one another. There for each other when their wounds needed licking or for a shoulder to lean on. That's all. They weren't a couple with that lovey-dovey bullshit like Glenn and Maggie. They'd never kissed, never hugged. Their arms and hands would brush against one another at times. A gentle squeeze of one's shoulder or a reassuring hand pressed against the small of one's back; nothing more. They could share the same space without saying a word and yet there was that mutual understanding of one another. Words weren't needed to get a point across. They both just knew. Everything was simply unspoken.

His blue gaze fell to the journal that lay by his side. What did she want by giving him this thing? What was her point? Daryl picked it up again. His fingers moved along the cover, the worn leather catching on his rough fingertips. If he hadn't flipped through the book, he would have guessed it was a Bible with its tanned, leather face and strong, thick binding. The pages were uneven, jutting out in thick reams as if hand-pressed. Not one of those factory printed copycats that they mass-produced. The craftsmanship of such an article really appealed to the eye.

Daryl flipped the book open and thumbed to the next page. He was mildly interested to know the inner workings of Carol's mind. They may have been part of the same group for the past year and half, but it did not mean he knew everything there was to be known about her. They spoke, but it was nothing deep. They didn't exchange war-stories, just small anecdotes of their used-to-be lives before all this. Perhaps an 'I-used-to-do-this' kind of story, mostly on Carol's part rather than his, but nothing more than that.

Come to think of it, most of the times they spoke, it was on Carol's accord. He rarely if at all said anything to her. Daryl just listened. He had always been good at that. Wasn't big on talking or particularly big on expressing his feelings either. He was simply a born listener. Carol somehow made him change that, made him begin to shed his aloof demeanor. She made him feel at ease most times they spoke. Perhaps it was her gentle tone or her knowing eyes, but she made it easy for him to learn to speak up. He had slowly begun to warm up to her and chime in with his own story, but that was always few and far between.

Daryl's eyes roved over the page he planned to read, his fingers lightly tracing her words. He admired her penmanship. It was loopy as if half the time she wasn't sure if she wanted to write in print or cursive, a mix of print with the looping of cursive. His writing looked like your typical male chicken-scratch when he wrote in print, which needless to say he almost always did. Daryl was afraid to write in cursive. He'd been told on numerous occasions by his teachers in grade-school that he had such beautiful handwriting for a boy and received a good lick or two from his Daddy when chided about it.

"I ain't raised no female, son. Them teachers tryin'a tell me I raised some faggot, huh?" he remembered his Daddy tell him.

His fingers flew to his scalp. Under his hair high above his left ear, he could still feel the shape of the two-inch crescent scar that he had received from the comments on his writing that time. Daryl huffed and ignored his rampant thoughts. He quickly went to the top of the page and began to read once more. No reason to dwell on old ghosts. Not like they could do much to him now.

•_We made it to the CDC, but just barely. The doors were shut and walkers were starting to move about the parking lot. I guess the scent of the living roused them from their catatonic state. Everyone was panicking. The doors wouldn't budge. Rick said he saw something move. The camera lens, he claimed. I didn't believe him until the doors opened and we were let inside._

_Edwin Jenner. He is the last living person inside the CDC. There is no one else. This bothers me some, but what can we do? There was nowhere else to go. I don't know what would have happened if Jenner had not opened those doors for us, but I don't want to think like that. I can't. I have to believe that we will find some place to survive. Maybe even thrive._

_Jenner is kind. He's allowed us to stay. I don't think we've eaten this good since the fish fry that night at the quarry. Everyone's drinking and having ourselves a good time. It's been so long since I've had a glass of wine. It feels like none of this has happened. That the dead aren't walking around and we are just in good company. But I know this isn't true. I know this cannot last._

_There are so many books here in the CDC. I still can't believe this place exists. I wish we could make this our home, but the fact that it is underground makes me uneasy. It makes me keep Sophia close. This place makes me realize how small I really am.•_

So she had been claustrophobic? Daryl found the fact surprising, seeing as how she hadn't tried clawing her way out of the broom closet she found herself stuck in when walkers had been let loose into the prison. Perhaps she had forgotten that fear with walkers being a more imminent? It was possible, but he was sure the phobia still lingered in the back of her mind that she would perhaps die in the small prison.

Daryl skimmed a few pages, turning up nothing particularly interesting. At least nothing he found interesting. Carol mentioned the things she talked with Lori and Andrea, her worries for Sophia, the things she dreamed about. His eye was drawn to one excerpt.

"That Dixon boy."

She was talking about him this time. His curiosity piqued at the find, he began to read.

•_A herd of walkers scared my little girl away. Lori held my mouth shut as we hid under the graveyard of cars we had been scavenging in. I knew I shouldn't have let Sophia wander off with Carl; I should have kept her in my sights. Ed hasn't even been gone for long and already I can't do anything without him. Despite his ever watchful eye, he always kept us close. Never out of sight. Why couldn't I have just kept her by my side? I was so engrossed with admiring the clothes that Ed wouldn't let me wear that I had ignored my Sophia._

_And she was gone. Just like that. We had thought all the walkers had passed by, but no. There were stragglers. Two of them chased her down the ravine and out of sight. Rick followed after her, didn't even hesitate. He just took off, but after awhile he returned with nothing. Sophia wasn't with him._

_He'd said she had been safe when he found her. He'd told her to make her way back after a period of time, keep the sun to her left shoulder. She's only twelve! She doesn't know any better! How do you expect a scared child to react in that kind of situation? He left her out there on her own. How could he do such a thing?_

_That Dixon boy offered to try and track her. He knew how to track. He's hunted most of the meat we've been eating since we met him, and his brother at the quarry. He left with Rick and Glenn, said they would be back soon. I stayed. Lori and Andrea kept holding me, rubbing my back. As much as their touching was meant to comfort me, I wanted them to just leave me be. No amount of consoling could make me feel any better about the situation. Their touches wouldn't bring me back my Sophia._

_I don't know how much time passed but it seemed like hours. Glenn came back after a time. He said the Dixon boy and Rick were on the trail and that they would be back soon. I felt a bit more at ease, but what more could be done? She was already lost and what if something happened to her? What if she ran into a walker? No. I can't think like that. She'll be okay. She has to be._

_Rick and the Dixon boy came back. They found a walker. The blood on their pants and gloves confirmed my worst suspicions. I wanted to vomit. How could Rick just leave her there? Knowing what was out there, how could he just..._

_Where are you Sophia? Please come back.•_

Daryl felt a lump in his throat as he finished the passage. He remembered that day vividly. He'd gutted the walker, splitting it from sternum to navel with his buck knife and finding nothing but an old woodchuck skull. He remembered the look on Carol's face when she had realized that there had been a walker in the woods. He couldn't imagine the pain that she was going through or the worry that she must have dealt with. But that look of a concerned and fearful mother—it spoke to him in some way.

He felt obligated to find her missing little girl. He knew what it was like to be lost, but in his case there had been no one to go searching for him. He'd been out in the woods nine whole days and somehow he had survived. But Sophia wasn't like him. No one would be.

He flipped to the next page. Spots on the pages were somewhat hard to read as if the patter of water droplets had ruined the ink, causing it to fade and smear. He wondered where this had come from. There had been no rain during their stint on the farm or prior to. Not a single drop had fallen. It had looked to start storming the day Dale had confided in the group to reconsider the execution of Randall, but even then nothing fell from the sky. Daryl ran his fingers over the spots where the pages warbled slightly, the usual condition of water meeting a paper-based article. He drummed his fingers along the pages, wondering if he should continue. His stomach was beginning to growl and as much as he didn't feel like joining his group-mates to eat, he knew he needed to get something in him. Pausing for a moment, he contemplated eating over reading.

•_I haven't been able to sleep since Sophia went missing. I can't keep from crying. I'm worrying to death about her out there. I know it bothers the others, but they don't know what it's like to have your loved one out there missing and you don't even know if they are alive or worse. Maybe the Dixon boy knows. They never did find his brother beside his severed hand. How unfortunate._

_Our group is split up. Carl was shot this afternoon, some sort of hunting accident. I can't imagine what Lori is going through right now. Perhaps maybe I can. But it seems like things can't get any better for us. T-Dog and Glenn went to the farm where the others are, waiting for word on Carl's recovery and to get T-Dog help for his blood infection. Andrea, Dale, the Dixon boy, and I stayed with the RV in case Sophia made it back. I hope that's the case._

_The Dixon boy went in the middle of the night with Andrea to go search for her. I don't think he did it because he wanted to. I think my crying was bothering him and he was just tired of hearing me blubbering half the night. I don't blame him, and to be frank, I didn't even thank him for doing that either. What an awful thing for me to have not done. Andrea and he could have been hurt going out there in the dark. There's no knowing what's been lurking out there or currently is._

_Daryl. That's right. That's his name. Despite his gruffness, he actually tried to offer words of comfort to me this afternoon. He said that hoping and praying was a waste of time. He said that we would find Sophia and that she'd be just fine. I hope he's right. I'm not quite sure what he meant about him being the only one 'zen' around here, but it made me smile even for just a little bit.•_

Daryl snorted, a crooked smile creeping on his lips. He shut the book and stood up, stretching out like a large feline, arching his back long with arms outreached, book in hand. He made his way into the cabin of the guard tower and set Carol's journal on the console panel. He slung his crossbow over his shoulder and left to hunt.

It probably wasn't the best idea he had had in recent memory, but he wanted to avoid dealing with the others as much as possible. He needed his space to clear his clouded mind. A good hunt could do that for him. He quietly stalked through the woods, crossbow drawn up, buck knife loose at his hip and ready for surprise close encounters. His mind sinfully clears in the moment. His ears attuned themselves to every sharp noise permeating through the listless chirping of birds and symphony snapped brambles as woodland creatures traveled the branching highways above. He felt at home, at ease in the woods. The last little bit of comfort he had felt in the prison had gone away like everything else he kept close to him.

There was no getting that back.

Still Daryl couldn't quite figure out why Carol had left him her journal of all things. Why leave anything to him at all? Why not leave it for someone else? Hell, perhaps Hershel or maybe Beth. Why him? Maybe Carol wrote something about her reasoning in the journal? Maybe.


	3. Chapter 3

White Blank Page

Edited by: Amputation

I apologize for the delay on this chapter. I was not personally satisfied with the way I had written it initially and decided to scrap it. This is the newly improved version of the 3rd chapter. I hope you all enjoy it. As always read, review, and share!

Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.

* * *

Chapter 3

Clear. His mind was at ease as he stalked through the brush, a troupe of squirrels dangling from his shoulder. Daryl dodged the few walkers that meandered too close with nimble moves, knife tucked defensively in his hand, and eyes darting about the landscape. He swiftly made his way back to the prison, locking the gates as quickly as possible.

He trudged back between the fences somewhat proud of his catch for the next few days. If he was counting correctly, there were approximately two squirrels per mouth. Not bad for not trying terribly hard. Daryl had not aimed to go scouring the woods for food, but being a man who lived off the land he had to use what he killed. And he had come across enough squirrels that he figured he shouldn't let them go to waste for the dead to catch and gnaw on.

Doing them a favor, he supposed.

The loud sounds of moans and growling on the other side of the fence bothered him more than it should. He hated them, every single one of them. He didn't care that they had once been normal people like himself, they were monsters and he would stomp every last one out if given the chance. The walkers were the reason for the group's strife. The loved ones they had gratuitously lost. The reason why they ran, hoping to survive to the next day. Walkers were the reason they had lost Carol. It was a vicious onslaught of never-ending survival and for what? Would they ever find a safe haven to call and claim as home? Or would the dead simply take that too?

Daryl angrily kicked up a flurry of dust as he continued through the double fencing. Walkers followed after him like he was their pied piper, the squirrels being the harbinger via bloody scent and tantalizing offer of fresh flesh to be had. Their insatiable instinct to do nothing but consume and destroy was an abhorrent existence, and he wanted none of that for Merle or Carol. They had deserved better.

He opened the large metal door to their cell block and flew down its stairs skipping the last with a soft thump as he strode towards one of the tables.

"'Ey caught us some squirrels," he called, putting a hand to his mouth so the sound carried further down the sleeping quarters.

Nothing stirred. No sounds of creaking cots or boots scuffing against the cement floor. Silent. Just empty sound as his voice rang back at him. Daryl cautiously took a step further into the cell block, fingers twitching at the twine of squirrels at his shoulder. His eyes danced around as he crept towards the barred door.

"'Ey, did y'all hear me?" he called again, striding forwards, "Brought us squirrels. Come out and skin these, Carol—" He stopped.

The realization that he was calling out to a ghost hit him like a semi-truck, wind knocked from his lungs, and he felt foolish. He leaned against the table, eyes staring at the slated surface, fingers drumming in an irritated rhythm. In that instant, everything felt empty. The open silence of the prison was suffocating. She wasn't there and she wasn't coming back either. Just another name to tack onto his growing list of people he had grown to care for only to lose later.

Daryl shut his eyes for a few seconds, letting who he had called out to seep in. He stopped his fingers and let out a long breath through his nostrils. He had to calm himself otherwise he would regret his next move. Chewing the inside of his cheek, he slowly opened his eyes. Out of swelling grief, he slammed the squirrel troupe to the table, letting out a small bark of anger.

He yanked one squirrel from the twine rope and laid it belly down, hind legs drawn apart. He pulled his buck knife from his hip and made a small incision above the anus of the squirrel, tail pulled back to make the cut easier to see. He then snapped the tail with the flat of his blade, the pop-pop-pop echoing.

He began to wedge his fingers beneath the hide, separating it from the meat and revealing a small pocket. He set his knife back on the table. Dangling the squirrel by the hind legs, he took his boot to its tail. He pulled the squirrel with even steady pressure and watched as its hide slipped from off the lean muscle like a glove in his hand. The front paws were still caught in the fur like arms caught in a long-sleeve shirt. With his index finger, he flicked them out further from their constraints. Grabbing his knife, Daryl snapped the arms, breaking them, then took the knife tip and cut them off.

Daryl moved his boot from the squirrel's tail and brought it back to the table so he could knock its head off without incurring much of a mess on the floor. He swiped it away and methodically went back to removing the leg hide that remained. Once that had been yanked free, he made a slit from the groin to the anus and then worked the knife back up to open its belly and breastplate. More pop-pop-popping reverberated off the walls as its rib cage broke beneath his fingertips, creating a macabre symphony in the stale silence.

With deft fingers, he spread the rib cage open and brought his digits to the back of the spine, pinching the column. In three hard yanks, the contents of the squirrel's innards were pulled from its body and set to the side with the non-essential edibles. Carefully, he cut the intestinal membrane away from the meat of the squirrel and pushed it aside. Done.

Merle had always taught him that squirrel skinning was a form of art. Anyone with half a brain could learn to do it, but it took a true woodsman or redneck (in his case) to completely master it. It was not a difficult task to accidentally break the intestinal tract when opening up the belly of the squirrel or somehow poke a hole through the hide making the peeling of it off more difficult than before. Daryl had been taught well. He grimaced at the thought, before moving on to the next squirrel. His thoughts were wandering with each squirrel he skinned, the tangle of thoughts making each of his incisions more haphazard and less precise than the next. He worked mechanically with more vivacity and anger with each one he moved to. The meat remained unsullied despite his fumbling hands.

"Daryl?"

Caught off-guard by the sudden trembling sound of his name and his swirling mind of convoluted thoughts, Daryl slammed his knife into his current squirrel, impaling it through its tiny chest and looked up to see who had called him. Beth stood nearest the entryway of the cell block bouncing Judith in her arms, a concerned expression on her face.

Daryl looked back to the task at hand. A string of cusses flew under his breath realizing that he had just spoiled the meat of the current squirrel he was working on. He had made one of the simplest mistakes in gutting a squirrel and had let the gut bag's contents seep into the meat, making it inedible. Well, at least to humans it was. He let out an exasperated huff, massaging his temples with his bloodied hands and cocked his head at Beth. His eyes focused on her, annoyed by her sudden intrusion. If she had been in the cell block the entire time, why had she not said anything? Why now was she coming out to greet him?

"What?" he barked.

A mixture of sweat and blood slowly dripped down the sides of his temples where he had been nursing his nerves. Despite the coolness of the prison, the Georgia sun seeped through the windows warming the stagnant air making it stuffy and less bearable inside than it was outside.

Beth pursed her lips and moved closer inside the chow-hall slight apprehension in her step, Judith gurgling the entire way.

"I was wondering what all the noise was. That's all," she said in a soft voice. She adjusted Judith who was beginning to wriggle around in her arms. Beth took notice of the controlled mess on the table, "um, if you don't mind holding Judith, I can skin the rest of those squirrels."

Daryl studied Beth for a long while trying to figure out whether he should resign himself from completing the task he had set out to do or allow her to skin the squirrels. He thought about it for a few more seconds before setting his knife on the table and taking a seat away from the mess. He pulled his grease rag from his back pocket and cleaned his hands, making sure he didn't pass on any blood to Judith. He tucked the rag back into his pocket and looked to Beth.

"Fine. Give'r here," he drawled, arms outstretched to receive the baby.

The moment Judith was passed to Daryl she quit her fussing and calmed down, a big smile spreading across her chubby cheeks and the hunter quirked a curious brow at her abrupt change in demeanor. He still couldn't understand why Judith would just quiet down all of a sudden when he held her. Perhaps it was the association of the first time he had held her and calmed her down? Or maybe she simply felt comfortable in his arms? He didn't know, but Judith went quiet and she idly stared at him with big, blue wandering eyes. He smiled at her gently and made soft cooing noises as he rocked her slightly.

Beth let out a small cough, "Daryl, do you have a smaller knife? Carol—" She paused for a second, choosing her words carefully. "—she always used her small knife when she taught me. It was much easier."

Daryl cocked his head once more, raising a questioning eyebrow at her. Taking this as a sign to just deal with what she had at hand, Beth whispered a "never mind."

Daryl went back to tending to Judith, her tiny hands flailing about and grasping for something to hold in her hands. She had been trying to grab hold of the collar of Daryl's shirt, but each and every time she would try he would put his hand in her way, keeping her from strangling him with his own shirt. He let out a yelp of pain as she pulled a fistful of his wispy hair.

"Sonovabitch!" he snapped, eyeballing the infant. Judith innocently giggled waving her victory (a chunk of stringy auburn hair) in her tiny hands. Daryl sighed, letting out a pained chuckle. What could he do? She was just a baby and didn't know any better. He looked to Beth who had a smile on her lips.

"She's missed you."

He shifted uncomfortably with Judith in his arms, letting out a gruff grunt in reply. It was going to take more than Asskicker to get him to come back. There was more to this than just this; whatever this was. Beth let out a grunt of her own as she tried pulling the hide from the squirrel's body. He looked to see what she was doing and let out a long sigh realizing that she was skinning the poor bastard incorrectly.

"Do you even know what the hell yer doin'?" he growled, watching her mangle the meat he had taken most of the afternoon to hunt.

Beth stopped what she was doing, biting her bottom lip out of embarrassment, "I might have forgotten a step or two."

He rolled his eyes and stood up with Judith in his arms, "'Ere, take Asskicker."

Beth wiped her messy hands on her pants and reached out to take Judith back, moving around the table to take the spot that Daryl had previously been occupying.

She watched as he booted the tail and yanked the squirrel from out of its skin, laying it back on the table and pulling its spinal column and internal organs in one swift motion. He feverishly worked through another squirrel as Beth watched him cut it open and repeat the process. Despite seeing dead people walking around, the sight of Daryl ripping the guts out of a squirrel still made her stomach turn.

Daryl worked in silence puffing his cheeks out with each yank, his eyebrows drawn down in a frustrated concentration. He could feel Beth's eyes on him as he split the breast of the squirrel open. He could tell that she had something she had wanted to say. There was a reason she had come out of the sleeping quarters. There was always a reason when Beth was being overtly vocal.

Beth finally broke the quiet of the room.

"When you left, I was so mad at you. Carol—" Beth paused at the mention of her name, glancing to Daryl who stiffened as the name rolled off her lips. She could see the muscles in his neck go taut, but continued anyway, "she told me not to be mad, told me that you had your code. That the world needed men like you. She was right," she said quietly.

Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat as he slid his knife up the belly of the final squirrel. "Break his sternum like this. Ya' take yer fingers here up the breastplate, pinch the spinal cord and as so," he dictated as he pulled the innards out.

Daryl caught her wincing at the snapping noise from the squirrel's breaking ribcage. He wouldn't deny that he had done the same thing when Merle had shown him for the first time. Beth watched with curious eyes as he set the meat aside, still tending to Judith. He moved towards the sink and grabbed a dirty pot that had been left from the previous meal. He scooped the guts from the squirrels into the pot and chucked the skins on top. He had considered keeping the skins but thought better of it. No real use for them anyhow. Without much left to do, he picked the pot up and made his way up the steps towards the door.

"You meant a lot to her."

Daryl stopped moving, chewing the inside of his cheek, his breath catching in his throat. Was she trying to make him feel guilty or something? Or was this Beth's attempt at making him feel better because if it was, it wasn't working. Daryl glanced over his shoulder.

"Make a stew out of 'em. It'll last longer."

Without another word, he went back to the guard tower.

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A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this! Constructive criticism is always welcome! I love hearing from you all. It makes my day. Truly.


	4. Chapter 4

White Blank Page

Edited by: Amputation

I apologize for the delay on this chapter. Life is getting in the way of my writing, but fear not! Summer is coming and I will have more free time to write with no school to attend. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy it. As always read, review, and share!

Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.

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Chapter 4

He stopped. Shut the door and just stopped. He glowered into the pot full of squirrel guts and ratty skins mixed like a horrible slop of dead animal scraped from the side of the road. Beth's words rattled inside his brain and he was not okay with that. Daryl had felt like she was repeatedly stabbing him in the same spot over and over again, but he couldn't quite put his finger on where it was she was hurting him. He didn't appreciate that she was inching her way under his skin like that. He glanced back at the door and glared at it.

There wasn't much that could be done now. He had taken his leave and left the conversation. He growled under his breath and skulked back to the guard tower, kicking the door open and setting the pot outside the cabin. He'd chuck the slop over the tower rail later. He moved back inside and looked to the tower console panel, quirking a confused brow at where the book should have been. Carol's journal had been knocked to the ground, its pages splayed up. A Cherokee rose petal skittered across the floor as Daryl approached the fallen journal with each soft thump of his boots.

He stooped to pick the book up, dusting its cover off as he closed it shut. Daryl's eyes wandered to the petal that lay a few inches away from where Carol's journal had fallen. He plucked the petal from the floor with deft fingers, thumb moving gently over its smooth texture. Even in death, Carol still made him feel at ease and unsure of himself at the same time.

He plopped to the floor in a discontented huff, crossing his legs and pressing his back against the panel. He drummed his fingers atop the cover of the journal, contemplating whether he should read despite knowing the course of events, having lived them alongside her. Even so, he had only experienced his own emotions during that time and hadn't really gotten a full grasp on what Carol had really felt. Again, curiosity got the better of him and he opened the journal flipping to where he had left off.

He took a deep breath. Daryl had to somewhat prepare himself. Her words despite how they made no sound resonated in his head as if she were with him, steadily whispering them in his ear. Hearing every crescendo and warbling falter in her pitch as his eyes read each word. It made his guts twist and turn reliving what she had endured in those months. Daryl brought his left hand to his temple with his elbow propped on his knee and began to read.

•_We've arrived on the farm. We left a note on a car with supplies for Sophia back on the highway. Each day we'll go check to see if she found it and is there waiting for us. I was so reluctant to leave, but Dale and Andrea reassured me that she would be okay, that there would be someone to check every day._

_I hope that is true._

_I didn't know what to do with myself when we arrived at the farm. I wasn't particularly sure about meeting our new hosts. So I stayed. I cleaned up the RV, washed the tables, arranged the plates on the counter, put things away back in their proper places, folded the towels that were lying about, and made the bed._

_Daryl, the Dixon boy, came in while I was sewing up a shirt Andrea had torn and wanted mending. I know he was there because I caught sight of him in my peripheral vision. I ignored him. Just continued what I was doing. If he had business for someone else, they weren't here. It was only me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him waiting in the frame of the door. He just stood there patiently and a little unsure of himself. He stood there just chewing on a piece of long grass he had found while wandering about._

_I'm not sure if Daryl was waiting on me, but he certainly got my attention even if he hadn't intentioned it._

_A flower? I had never seen this white flower before. It was beautiful with its large flush petals and yellow center. Daryl had filled a beer bottle with water to the top of the label with a single white flower peeking out the neck. He quietly set it on the mini dresser and backed away from it. He swayed back and forth seeming like he wanted to flee having done something so unnatural to him. Daryl didn't run away though. He waited. I just sat there perplexed that he had brought me such a thing. It was a nice gesture but what was its purpose? When he realized I didn't know the meaning behind the flower, if there was meant to be one, he spoke._

_It's called a Cherokee rose. He said that many mothers walking the Trail of Tears lost their little ones to disease, famine, starvation, or they simply disappeared. To lift the mothers' spirits the elders prayed for a sign and where their tears fell, these roses bloomed. He told me that he believed this one; this one bloomed for my little girl._

_I couldn't help but start to cry. Not out of sadness, but out of sheer happiness. Hope. He gave that to me today. Even for just a little bit._

_I don't know what Daryl's intentions are, but even for a brief moment, he made me smile. He forced me to forget that this world is cruel. That this world is harsh and full of horrors. He made me believe that we would find Sophia. We just have to hold on. •_

Daryl felt a swell of pride that he had been able to offer some sort of consolation to Carol during her time of need. It had taken him by surprise to find the Cherokee roses when he'd left the abandoned farm house that afternoon. The fresh bedding and the recently opened can of sardines offered a promising prospect if Sophia had just left, but upon calling her name he garnered no response and found no trail leading away from his newly acquired information. Instead he had found the flowers, lulling back and forth in the light breeze as if waving him to come hither.

Daryl had immediately felt hope for his search. He wasn't a Bible-thumping preaching man, but certain things he felt an urge to believe in when they seemed to present themselves at convenient times. The Cherokee roses having been one such sign, as one would claim them to be.

As a kid, he had been tasked with researching the Trail of Tears. His teacher had handed out a small book of information that would help as source material to write the paper. Flipping through its pages he found the pretty white flower. He'd read the story of the Cherokee rose over and over again. The symbol of hope that it represented for the mothers over their sorrowful migration from their homeland to the new world they would be facing alone without their little ones.

He himself had clung to this belief as he struggled to survive in the woods on his own. He had gotten lost trying to find his way home and Daryl had hoped that the flowers would bloom, signaling to his daddy or his brother somewhere that he'd been out there missing and waiting for them to come find him, but they never did. He'd never once found the Cherokee roses waiting in bloom for his return. He'd been gone nine whole days and his own daddy didn't even notice he had been gone.

He was angry with the roses for giving him false hope that the people he'd assumed cared for him would come and they hadn't. What was he to expect? His daddy had beaten him on any given day for no particular reason. Why would he expect anything less? He had chalked it all up to being stupid and gullible to believe flowers naturally bloomed for sick and lost children. What a crock of shit that had been. He'd promised himself to rip up every Cherokee rose he ever found in spite of its disappointing hope that they had given him. He wouldn't be so foolish to believe something so fickle again.

Yet, Daryl had found himself questioning his beliefs behind the roses upon finding them in wait that day. He'd felt no hatred for them as he'd knelt beside the bush with its many blossoms in full bloom. He had caught a flicker of white after the spots of the harsh Georgia sun hit him with full force after exiting the darkness of the house. They gleamed through the vibrant greens of the grass and stood out amongst the foliage he had no choice but to be drawn to them.

Daryl had felt that somehow he'd been meant to find them. That had been his sign that he would find her. It was his means of offering up hope to Carol when she may not have any. If she believed that he would find her, he believed he would too. He still wasn't quite sure why he'd felt obligated to find the girl. He had never been particularly kind or fond of her, but he supposed the reason being was that she being lost resonated with himself at that age. Perhaps some psycho-babble bullshit would stake claim that what he was really trying to do was find his scared, lost child-self in the woods. He didn't know, but it had given him more of an excuse to wander the woods and be on his own, perhaps detour and make efforts to search for Merle, if he was even alive.

How vicious this world was. All his feeble attempts would always be for naught. Daryl came up empty handed each and every time. Sophia had been no different.

Daryl shut his eyes letting out a labored sigh as he thumped his head against the wall. He would never let himself live that down. There would always be that little sliver of regret inside him. He had let her down despite his words and that cut the most. He hadn't been talking out of his ass about finding Sophia, but as the days passed and no sign of her was to be found, it grew increasingly difficult to keep his own hope up while trying to maintain it for Carol, too.

He hadn't done right by her and all his hoping and claims had been flung back in his face when Sophia had shambled out of that barn. Carol had known it, too. They'd both felt like fools, clambering for a false sense of hope when all this time she had been right under their noses, tucked in a barn to rot away. He had known better and yet he had disregarded when he'd seen that her tracks had diverted from the path she meant to go. That should have been his first red flag that Sophia was not going to be found in one piece albeit even alive for that matter.

Daryl scratched at his scruff, tracing his frown lines with his fingertips. Carol wasn't making this easy to swallow. Maybe reading her journal had been a poor choice? A light gust of wind caressed his sweaty skin, ruffling his shaggy hair as it floated through the open cabin door. He could hear the gentle shake of the trees in the forest and the idle chirp of birds. He harrumphed in protest, feeling slightly pressured to continue this hopeless farce by the talking wilderness. He relented with a frustrated sigh and thumbed back to the previous entry.

•_Sophia's doll. Daryl found it today. He found it by a riverbed not too far from here. I felt my heart leap out of my chest when I heard the news. Perhaps he is right. Maybe we will find her._

_It's hard to keep the hope alive when no one else seems to be taking this as seriously as him. Daryl has gone out each day since she went missing in search of her. His determination is invigorating and keeps my mind at ease._

_But, I feel like it's my fault. He came back with several rather serious injuries. From what I was told he took a tumble down a ravine after something spooked his horse. He was impaled by one of his crossbow bolts upon falling, and then Andrea shot him after mistaking him for a walker when he made it back to the farm. She didn't kill him, thankfully, but I don't blame her either. From what Glenn and Rick said he was dirty with mud caked all over him. He was bloody and had a warble in his step dragging his crossbow along the ground behind him. Clipped him good in the head she did._

_Even still, I feel like Daryl trekking out there on his own is my fault. If it hadn't been for Sophia going missing he wouldn't have gotten as hurt as he did. Hell, I don't think he would have been out there in the first place, to be quite honest._

_I went to take Daryl's dinner up to him. I wanted to personally thank him. When I opened the door, I caught a glimpse of his back. I wanted to thank him, but the words wouldn't come. All those scars; we are more alike than I ever thought. I set his dinner tray down and learned over to kiss him on the head. I don't quite understand why I kissed him, but I felt it necessary. I wanted him to know that I appreciated him for what he was doing. I suppose to let him know I see his efforts even if the others might not. I guess partially to let him know that I understand why he is the way he is. He flinched when I leaned in. I was going to just leave embarrassed that I had done such a thing and that he didn't like this form of touch, but I stopped, stood my ground, and told him what I felt. Told him what I thought to be true._

_Daryl did more than Ed ever did for Sophia._

_His expression did not falter. He laid still, stoic. He tried to brush it off as if this was something he did simply because he thought Shane and Rick would do it too. It made me a little sad that he didn't think of himself as any good. That he was simply riding the coattails of the other men in our group. What he did today made me happy and even a little proud in a way that I had someone go to such lengths to find my daughter. Daryl has no ties to me. As far as I know we are complete strangers and yet, he risked his life today to find some small piece of evidence that she's still alive. Some form of hope._

_You're every bit as good as them. Every bit._

_I feel like my words didn't get to him. I hope he knows that I meant what I said. He really is as good despite what he believes he is. Every bit. •_

Daryl snapped the book shut and nudged it away from him with the toe of his boot as far as he could thrust it. He brought the heels of his hands to his eyes and furiously began rubbing. He swallowed the lump in his throat, clenching his teeth, jaw set.

He could feel her soft breathy voice at his ear whispering, _"Every bit."_


	5. Chapter 5

White Blank Page

Edited by: Amputation

I am so exhausted, but glad I could offer up a new chapter to you guys. Also, if any of you follow my "If Tomorrow Wasn't Such a Long Time" fic as well, I apologize for the lack of update. I'm having a difficult time writing up that chapter currently. I am working on it, but I am not completely satisfied with it, so once I'm happy with it I will post it. Otherwise, thanks for the support on both fics. Read, review and always enjoy!

Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.

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Chapter 5

The insects chattering out in the dark drowned out the low guttural moaning that echoed across the prison lawn. The chain link fence rattled as the walkers ran their knobbed fingers along it, meandering about until the scent of their next victim was detected. They seemed to coalesce beneath the guard tower, trying to figure out where the scent of blood was emanating from that kept them huddled at its base. In his sullen anger, Daryl had thrown the squirrel guts off the balcony directly below the tower. He almost let slip the pot, but quickly tightened his grip to prevent having to venture below after it. He regretted having done so immediately afterward.

Daryl glowered at them from above but mostly he glared at the journal that lay abandoned in the cabin behind him. He may not have been actually staring at the damned thing but he knew very well where it was. That had been several hours ago when he'd angrily kicked it away. His mind was still tinkering around with her words in his head. Beth's too. He kept turning them around, trying to make sense of them. They didn't fit, at least not with regards to himself, in his own opinion. Their words were the round pegs and he was the square hole. It simply did not match up. He had never known himself to be any good. That had been drilled into him since he was knee high by his own Daddy and he'd learned to believe it.

The man had a way with words; knew when to kick you when you were down and when to push your buttons when you had no more fight left in you to contest it. He knew exactly how to worm his way under your skin, pick your brain and make you feel like the lowliest piece of shit known to man. Daryl endured that day in and day out until his Daddy had died of a heart attack and that had been the end of that twenty-three year torture. But Daryl knew his Daddy's words to be true and they lingered like a festering wound even after his death. He was just white trash with a shit-hole trailer home, a beat-up hand-me-down truck that was as old as he was, and a red-neck construction job as a contract worker. What more could he be than what he already was, or had been?

Carol apparently thought he was better, that he deserved better. What had she known that he didn't? What could she have possibly seen in him that proved to be otherwise?

A knock was heard through the door and Daryl tilted his head to see who was there to bother him. Rick stood behind the door with an expression of frustration, indicating he needed help getting the door open. He was balancing two bowls of food while attempting to twist the doorknob, but making no real progress. Daryl pondered unlocking it, but was abruptly reminded that he had purposely locked it to keep the visitors to a minimum. He didn't need anyone else coming up to chide him about his lack of involvement with the group. He just needed his time alone. Why couldn't they all just understand that?

"You gonna' let me in or am I gonna' have to kick the door in?" Rick called through the Plexiglas. Daryl thought about it for another second, smirking privately before standing up to unlock the door to let the grizzled sheriff in.

Daryl went back to where he had been sitting and took the bowl offered up to him by Rick. He had at first hesitated but realizing that it had been several days since he had anything to eat. He thought better of declining the meal. He voraciously spooned the soup into his mouth, savoring every bite, but hungrily inhaling each chunk of meat he managed to find. He had been hungry, a fact he could not deny. He had forgotten that he had been starving himself for the past few days, although not intentionally. He simply was not hungry. There was also the fact that his body just was not tolerating any intake of food, causing him to vomit a previous meal for whatever unknown reason. His vigil had taken precedent over his own nourishment at that point. That he wouldn't do again.

"Beth said ya' paid a visit to the cell block this afternoon. She said you'd brought a bunch of squirrels back to cook up," Rick commented in between mouthfuls, "thank you."

Daryl swallowed his spoonful of stew, gulping it down with a slight curl of his lip in discontentment at having to provide a response.

"Yeah, well, yer welcome," he replied in between bites.

It wasn't half bad. It lacked that one thing that Carol was able to add to each meal she cooked that Beth simply could not replicate, but it was still something and that was better than nothing in his book. As long as it got him through to the next day, he was fine with the lack of taste. It would do.

The two ate in silence as they enjoyed their hot meal. Daryl let out a contented sigh as he finished drinking the last bit of the broth in his bowl and set it inside the dirty squirrel pot. He lazily wiped his lips with the back of his hand. His fingers moved to his mouth as he began picking his teeth of the stringy meat caught in between then to licking his fingers of the mess he'd made of the broth.

"I thought you could use some food seeing as how you've all but refused to eat on anyone else's accord but your own."

Daryl didn't say anything. Just sat back and listened to the woods, head resting against the wall.

Rick walked about the cabin nodding his head at Daryl observing the nest he had seemed to make. His thin cot mattress rolled up in the corner on top of a thin lump of a pillow with his quiver resting against the console panel, poncho draped neatly across the top of the chair. The silence was permeable. He figured as much the conversation would end just as quickly as it had started. Daryl had never been much of talker and Rick was okay with that. He appreciated just being able to talk and have him listen. Rick could do that without having to be wary of Daryl trying to add his own two cents in telling him that what he was divulging was wrong.

Rick cleared his throat before speaking again interrupting the quiet, "I'm going on a supply run tomorrow. Soon as the sun comes up I'll be leaving. Michonne will handle watch."

Daryl knew he was going on that run. Rick wasn't asking. He was telling him that he was going. Like it or not.

"Maybe getting away from this place will do the both of us some good."

Daryl shrugged, "maybe."

"I think a new change in environment will help us breathe easier. She'd think so too after everything that's happened," Rick said softly as he held out Carol's journal to Daryl.

He stiffened in his posture, eyes slightly flinching at the book. His gaze focused on the black leather book then flitted back to Rick who tried coaxing him to take it. Daryl chewed the inside of his cheek as he reached out a hand to accept the book back. Rick smiled softly before dipping his head in silent acknowledgment.

"Be ready when I pull up," Rick replied as he retreated back to the cell block leaving Daryl to mull over his words. He turned Carol's journal over in his hands before setting it down next to himself.

Daryl let out a shaky breath, hands massaging his temple, trying to ease the slowly growing headache he was feeling. He furrowed his brow shutting his eyes and trying to nurse the throbbing sensation building in his head. Maybe he shouldn't have eaten so quickly. His body was trying to adjust to the amount of food in his system after having starved itself for so long. Oh well, he would just have to deal. Not much that could ease the pain. Not now at least. No painkillers. No doctors, well, at least not legitimate ones. Hershel sufficed well enough though.

A lone howl echoed loud in the night drawing Daryl's attention out to the forest in front of him. It sounded melancholic and lonesome. He swallowed the growing lump in his throat, pushing to his feet. He made for the rail leaning against it fingers loosely drumming along the bar, trying to snuff the urge to heave his meal over the rail. Another long note rang out, a little closer than before.

He thought about going to sleep to rest up for tomorrow's run. There was no knowing what to expect out there, especially in his starved and sleep deprived condition but he knew sleeping would not be as restful as intended. It hadn't been the past week. Night terrors woke him up all too often. He had grown out of such things after his Daddy whipped him up good one night, running and crying to his bed about Mom. It had not been more than a week since she had passed and the horrors of that night had flooded his dreams. Her burned carcass, choked screams of the onlookers, the home ablaze where nothing survived. The faces of all those people steadily watching his every move as he looked on at the scene, mouth hanging open, fingers tangled in the grass on his knees. He just watched. He couldn't fully grasp the situation. It was all too surreal.

Daryl had gone running to his Pa's bed with snot running down his face, eyes puffy and red terrified of what he had dreamt. It was so nonchalant with the way the man rolled over to his bed side table, pulling a thick leather belt with the brass buckle out from the bureau. He'd grabbed him by the collar of his sleeping shirt and thwacked him hard several times across the back, hissing: Don't be a pussy and shut yer fuckin' yap. It was all too easy and commonplace. It was as if there was no skip in his rhythm and that this was how it had always been.

That had shut him up right quick because he had something to really cry about. The large welts slick and red across his back ached and were so tender, Daryl had resorted to sleeping belly down the rest of the week so as not to inflict more pain upon his newly acquired set of "lessons to be learned".

After that he never cried about the terrors that haunted his sleep. He simply dealt with it, just endured the haunting images of his Ma. He didn't dream much of her anymore. Occasionally that night crossed his mind, but now there were other things that haunted his dreams and made him wake in a shaking, sweaty pant, body trembling all too familiarly.

The howling broke his thoughts and he looked out in the dark of the forest. The pale moonlight cast long gnarled shadows from the forest like fingers reaching toward the prison. The animal's cry had been loud this time. It frankly startled him how close it had been, almost as if it were down below him but he saw nothing moving besides the meandering walkers, of course, but no furry critter causing a ruckus as this one was. And now that he thought about it, the howling sounded more like the baying of a hound dog than an actual coyote or wolf prowling about. He scratched his head wondering if he was simply imagining the howling animal or if it really was there.

He disregarded the thought. Maybe it was the headache making him imagine a howling hound. Daryl shrugged and turned towards the cabin to stare at Carol's journal. He knew what was to come. The next few entries would reopen old wounds he had tried ignoring for all this time. His old regrets would be rehashed and he wasn't sure if he wanted to come to terms with those right now. He let out a sigh through his nostrils and stooped down to pick up the journal. He held it tightly in his hands as he entered the cabin setting it on the seat of the chair. He unrolled his cot and let it unfurl on the ground, tossing a pillow to the top end and pulling his poncho over himself.

He shrugged his leather vest up and over his shoulders, tossing it on top of the chair. Daryl quietly kicked his boots off, laying face up to stare at the plain ceiling. He pulled his arms up to cradle his head as he studied the tiles and the water damaged corners of the room. Somehow the ceiling seemed much closer than when he stood in the cabin. It made him feel slightly claustrophobic, but it was just for the night and in a matter of minutes he wouldn't be staring at it any longer.

Daryl would sleep. Try to at least. Carol could wait one day before ripping him apart from the inside. He'd rather deal with the horrors of his dreams than the words on those pages. At least when he woke up the terrors would be gone, her words would still remain.


	6. Chapter 6

White Blank Page

With Edits by: Amputation and Jack-and-Honey

I am so sorry for the long delay on this chapter! I had the worst case of writer's block, not to mention have been completely stressed out from work-related drama and such. But anywho! I have completed this chapter with a ton of help from some fellow Caryl-ers. I would like to thank both of them from the bottom of my shipper-heart for all the help that they provided to me over the course of the week working on this chapter. They are oh so wonderful and amazing people! Thank you both again! Now let's get on with the chapter! As always, criticism is ALWAYS welcome. Thanks for reading and review!

Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.

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Chapter 6

Daryl awoke in a choked sweat, rays of the sun dancing about his face as his body shook violently. He'd dreamt again. It wasn't nearly as bad as all the other times, yet somehow subtly horrifying. In his dream, he'd stood watch while she smiled softly at him from a distance, waving him over. He tried moving forward, but his feet wouldn't budge. It was like his body was tethered by heavy, invisible chains and regardless of the force exerted he could not get any closer to her. That was when it came; the walker that ambled behind her with arms outstretched and groping. He couldn't move. His throat wouldn't make the words he wanted to shout in warning—and then he woke up. Just as its teeth were about to meet with the creamy flesh of her neck, he'd jerked awake as if he would have fallen off the tower balcony.

He had to remind himself that his dream hadn't happened, that he hadn't been there when she was bitten. Tried to remember he had been in a fierce rage, seeking the Governor for an opportunity to exact revenge. He had been taking the shot at the Governor when their group had been attacked by walkers, lacking worry regarding the welfare of the others. All he'd wanted was to see the Governor dead, to have him endure the suffering he had dealt when Daryl had lost Merle. The only kin Daryl had left had been stolen from him, right when he had believed things were starting to look up. Right when Daryl believed the man he knew Merle could be was beginning to shine through and it had evanesced under less expected circumstance. That had been Merle's swan song. He'd gone down with a fight, bragging and cussing the whole way through like he knew his brother would do. At least, that's what he had hoped Merle had done. He wasn't a pussy; tough as nails.

He sighed through his nose and rubbed the sleep from his eyes before rolling over and sitting up. He pulled his boots onto his feet and stood, grabbing his vest and digging into a gunny sack to fish his toothbrush and paste out to rid his mouth of the bitter taste of sleep. He dry brushed while packing his bedding away and moved out the cabin, spitting the froth out over the rail, hearing it splat while sending an unfortunate walker into a woeful moan. Wiping his mouth he let out a chortle, raking a hand through his hair fixing his bangs while thinking whether or not to trim his scruff. He decided against it after hearing the gravel crunching below and the low hum of a vehicle idling. Rick was waiting.

Daryl made for his crossbow and quiver, slinging several empty bags over his shoulder. He had all that he needed; knife at his hip, pistol tucked in one of the bags in case of emergency. He took a step to leave the cabin before looking back to the single chair. Carol's journal lay undisturbed, in plain view just waiting for prying eyes to leaf through the pages. He didn't want anyone reading her journal. She had left it in his possession and that was where it would stay.

Without a second thought, Daryl grabbed the book and tucked it under his arm—he would find a proper place to keep it when he got his things in the Hyundai. He brushed past Michonne on his way down the tower, the woman skulking by with a curt nod and a sub-machine gun at her back, her usual scowl in place as she made her way up the stairs.

Daryl opened the trunk, throwing his stuff in the back before clambering to the passenger seat. Rick motioned for Carl to open the gates and they were off.

"Mornin'," Rick greeted after a few seconds.

Daryl nodded as he looked out the window, eyes scanning the moving environment.

"We're headed to a general store Glenn said might have more formula for Judith; she's running low right now. We'll probably stop at the other stores in the general vicinity," he continued, gesturing with one hand off the wheel, "an' see if we can't scrounge up more ammo while we're there, too. Any other things we may need."

He let out a low grunt in acknowledgment, continuing to stare out the window with fingers idly drumming against the hard bound cover of Carol's journal.

The two sat in a contented silence, neither saying much. Only a gentle sigh or the loud coughing of someone clearing their throat while adjusting in their seat making futile attempts at a comfortable sitting position seemed to break the quiet of the moving vehicle. Both seemed to be going over their thoughts that lingered in their heads. It was interesting how similar the two were: both Rick and Daryl were still coping with the loss of loved ones, stuck to dwell on the demons left behind, the things they knew they should have said. They'd felt too comfortable in the protective walls of the prison, but they should have known better. They could easily see that their situation was a repeat of the farm. They should have known better, known not to let their guard down. Daryl felt the fool thinking that there would have been more time with either of them; more time to bring out the best in Merle, more time to see Carol bloom and flourish as he knew she could.

It was almost a two hour drive before the two arrived at their destination: a small enclosed town off the beaten path. You'd almost miss it if it wasn't for the large water tower that stood out against the forest off from the main highway. It looked relatively untouched despite the gore that plastered some of the walls and dead bodies that lay haphazardly in the middle of the street or dangling out broken windows. Daryl wrinkled his nose at a particularly large mess outside a bar tavern. Intestines and body limbs were strewn all across the patio front; looked to be several patrons having holed themselves up from the various work boots and skulls littering its front.

"Here we are," murmured Rick as he slowed the Hyundai to a crawl in front of the general store. Without having to speak a word, the two worked like a well-oiled machine. Both knew exactly what to do. Daryl already had his crossbow slung across his shoulders, knife poised and at the ready with the gunny sacks dangling at his hip. Rick brought up the rear with his machete and Colt Python holstered at his side, a large police duffel bag at his shoulder.

Daryl delicately put his hand to the doorknob and gestured to Rick, telling the deputy to stand back a moment as he made an effort to break entry. Rick nodded and readied himself with his machete drawn up, eyes darting over each creak and cluttered noise. Daryl brought his hand up; his knife poised. He began counting down, drawing a finger down as he did before thrusting the door open. He took a deep breath and threw open the door, carefully creeping inside, Rick following close behind.

The deafening silence of the general store was nerve-wracking, the only sound coming from their muffled breaths, anticipating something to jump at any moment. Daryl proceeded with cautious, soft steps. They would sweep the store before attempting to do any kind of shopping. There was no knowing what could possibly be lurking in the aisles when they were determining what they would need for their journey ahead.

They worked quickly and quietly. Rick ended up taking the front leading the way due to his longer reach with his machete while Daryl brought up the rear. They made quick work of the handful of walkers meandering about the general store, dragging the bodies out front and clearing a path to the various aisles. Daryl went back to the Hyundai, grabbing the other bags after dragging a rather large walker that had become stuck in a corner. Working in tandem, they barricaded both entrances, shoving large shelving units in the way of the doors so they weren't disturbed while looting.

They took their time picking through each aisle, making sure each item they left behind had no real purpose in helping them survive; only taking what they needed. Daryl huffed. He wasn't finding a whole lot of anything. A few replacement light bulbs for their remaining flashlights, some batteries, cables for cordage, and various hair brushes he felt their group had no real use for.

He moved to another aisle and froze. He felt an odd sense of dejavu as he stiffly leaned down grabbing the garment, his fingers rhythmically playing with its silky fabric while his eyes moved over its uniquely colored pattern. Carol would have had a head wrap just like this stuffed somewhere in one of her bags. A scowl tugged at his lips as he thrust the cloth back into the pile of scarves, moving to another aisle before coming across infant clothing and supplies. Daryl whistled to Rick motioning him over to his find.

"What's Asskicker needin' now?" Daryl asked, picking up a plush toy and squeezing its belly. The loud squeaker echoed in the store. A clatter of cans falling to the ground and the shattering of glass sent both men to an immediate defensive stance. Ears pricking at the sound, Daryl could hear light padding as he stalked low to the ground towards the sound, left arm drawn up tucked under his chin, knife held at the ready as he made his way over.

As he approached he could hear a licking noise and hesitantly stood up so Rick could see him. He shrugged, shaking his head to indicate he wasn't sure what the hell could be in the store with them. Daryl moved towards the shattered glass, seeing a scattering of shards and pimento olives strewn about the floor; a few still rolling across the scuffed linoleum. He peeked around the corner, expression slowly drawing a blank.

"Yer fuckin' with me, right?" he muttered before standing up, beginning to massage his temples.

"What is it?" Rick asked, waving his flashlight over at Daryl.

"Hold on."

He disappeared down the aisle and Rick stood waiting, hesitant to move forward in case what Daryl had found wasn't nearly as docile as he thought it to be.

The deputy heard a yelp and the crunching of glass beneath boots as Daryl approached with an animal in his arms. He grabbed it by the scruff of its neck dangling it in front of the grizzled sheriff. It was a rather mangy Beagle, tail tucked between its legs, fur matted and dirty. Rick let out a long sigh before dissolving into chuckles.

"Ask yer Mother if you wanna' keep 'im," he teased before going back to rummaging in the infant supplies.

Daryl wrinkled his nose, "I ain't askin' ta keep the sonovabitch. Lil bastard scared the shit outta us." He replied adjusting the dog so he had a good look at the hound. Tri-colored with lemon colored freckles across the face, awkwardly long droopy ears edged in tiny nicks.

Fearless little sonovabitch, he thought as he looked more at the dog's muzzle. A rather large scar ran down its face, a pink line still visible through the tan and white fur; big brown eyes staring back at him as he took careful observation of the hound. It's tail gently wagged and pink tongue began inching its way out of its mouth to lick at Daryl's face.

He set the dog down, shaking his head and went back to looting before the Beagle could give his cheek a gentle lick. No need for a dog; was just another mouth to feed and they didn't need that at the prison. A baby was hassle enough with how often they ran out of baby formula, clothes, and diapers. Rick and Daryl filled one entire gunny sack of stuff for Judith and another with things for the rest of the group. There really wasn't much that they needed beyond food and maybe a few tools for repairs or maintenance. The Beagle sat and watched as the two men made their final rounds of the store, head bobbing back and forth between the deputy and the hunter.

Rick moved the front shelving unit away from the exit, doing his best to keep the noise level at a minimum. Pressing foreheads against the glass, the duo peeked through making sure no stray walkers were wandering close enough to the Hyundai to cause a problem. The road was devoid of any activity, living or dead. The town was—for the most part—deserted aside from lingering walkers confined to the derelict buildings from what they could deduct thus far. Rick opened the door, Daryl leading towards the Hyundai, his eyes and head darting from side to side, making sure there would be no surprises. Another chuckle escaped Rick's lips as they opened the trunk of the Hyundai and began setting the bags inside.

"What?" Daryl barked, turning to look at him with a frustrated expression.

"Seems you got a new best friend," the deputy teased, pointing to the dog at the hunter's heels, its tongue lolling idly out of its mouth as it panted.

Daryl tried shooing the hound away with his boot, "Go on. Git along yer way!" he hissed, making futile attempts at scaring the pooch off. The hound simply cocked its head and sat wagging its tail at him.

"Well I'm glad you find this so highly amusing," Daryl groused, glaring at the dog. Its ears rose as if it understood.

"Oh, c'mon, Daryl. We all need something to laugh about with the way shit has been going for us," Rick took a knee as he gently scratched behind the dog's ear, its tail wagging wildly at the attention.

"Ain't needin' no more dinner bells goin' off, lettin' those assholes know we're there or here," Daryl glowered at the dog, knowing very well the temperament of hounds; their obsessive baying when catching scents, and being driven on primal instinct to do nothing but chase and hunt. The dog could easily give up their position and send drove after drove of walkers after them. It was a liability through and through the way he saw it. Rick stood back up watching the dog, understanding what his comrade meant. He was right.

"Let's keep going. There're still a few places left."

Daryl let out a grunt as he followed Rick, making their way across the street. Looting took them through several buildings, each with a small collective of walkers that became active at the sound of the two living men moving about. It had startled them at first, figuring the inhabitants had simply gone into a dormant state, but the sound of the doorknob slowly twisting sent them in a frenzy. It was a bizarre scene to behold, but Rick and Daryl made do with thwacking off limbs, ramming knives through skulls, decapitating heads and otherwise making use of the environment they were in.

They were going through their last building when they heard a low growl. Rick turned to look at their new companion, curious and wary. The dog's muzzle was wrinkled with its white teeth bared, ears pulled back and tail stock still in the air as it pawed the entry way.

"Daryl," he hissed, edging back to grab the redneck's attention from the next room. He came barreling through the doorway several bags full on his shoulders, snarling out: "Run!"

It took Rick a second to register what was going on, but he promptly followed with desperate haste, gathering his loot and bolting towards the Hyundai. The moaning grew louder, and the shuffling even closer. A relatively large herd was moving through the town, and they were caught in the middle of it. Daryl got to the Hyundai first and thrust the trunk open, hurling his bags in as quickly as possible and in one fluid motion drew his crossbow and sent a few bolts flying into skulls of the shambling walkers. Rick skidded to a halt as he threw open the door on the driver's side, hurling his loot into the back seat, knowing Daryl took the passenger side. He fumbled, dropping the keys once before trying to start the car while Daryl was reloading his crossbow, trying to take out as many walkers as possible. They were coming all at once and it was hard to pinpoint just where it was they had originated from.

The engine revved to life and Daryl climbed into the Hyundai as Rick tore out of the town. They were starting to pick up pace when Daryl spotted a blur of white darting in and out between the walker's legs. The Beagle was running as fast as its legs could go, trying to keep up with the moving vehicle. The car was weaving in and around the road as Rick tried to avoid walkers that could pose a threat to their front windshield and fender, giving the hound ample time to get closer but not enough for a safe rescue. Daryl thought quickly about what he planned to do before turning towards Rick.

"Stop the car!"

Rick stared wide-eyed at Daryl, "are you insane?" he shouted over his shoulder, swerving again.

"Just stop the fuckin' car!"

The car came to a screeching halt and Daryl almost tumbled out from the sudden stop. The dog ran towards them, tail up like a flag as it leapt onto the back of the Hyundai, nails clawing at the fender, trying to get leverage. Daryl darted around the SUV, hurriedly pulling the dog into the back with him and Rick floored it, hurtling up the road and whipping back onto the highway. Daryl fell against the bags letting out a long sigh, hand massaging his temple. He felt a sloppy wet kiss against his cheek as the Beagle pawed at his chest, nuzzling its head into the hunter's lap, its big eyes staring up at him. He glanced down at the hound, feeling the adrenaline melt away with exhaustion as he leaned back. In the back seat, he spotted Carol's journal, hurriedly grabbing it and holding it against his chest while laying his other hand on the dog's head and scratching its soft ears. Rick let out a soft laugh as the hound's tail thumped loudly and wildly against the back seat, clearly enjoying the attention Daryl was giving it.

"You can keep 'im," Rick quipped from the front seat, "just don't tell Mom."

Daryl rolled his eyes trying to hide his incredulous smile.

"Shut up."

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A/N: Hopefully this next chapter will be posted sometime soon. If you guys have any suggestions for Daryl's new friend, let me know! I'm currently working on his name as we speak so if I like it, I will tag you with credit for it! Thanks!


	7. Chapter 7

White Blank Page

Beta-read by: Kathleensmiles

Thank you all for the continued support of this fic! I really appreciate it! I've been hard at work to get these chapters out to you guys as quickly as possible, I've starteit utilizing the help of beta-readers and find that it is helping my writing become more detailed and as I intend the story to flow. I would like to thank Kathleensmiles for her help on this chapter. Anywho, I'm still stuck on a name for Daryl's companion, so if you have a suggestion let me know. Thanks for reading, enjoy!

Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.

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Chapter 7

The floppy-eared Beagle's eyes never left Daryl's pacing form. The dog had its head propped atop its criss-crossed paws watching attentively as the restless hunter moved back and forth on the outside balcony. He may as well have carved out a path in the cement with how much he had paced that afternoon.

Daryl had come back from the supply run in a huff dreading the onslaught of words on the next set of pages that he knew waited for him. He'd put that off though. He had set Carol's journal on the chair again and went to sit out near the edge of the balcony. He dangled his feet off the side, arms wound around the guard rail hugging it protectively as he traced the tree line with his eyes. He wasn't equipped to deal with this kind of emotional shit. It just wasn't something he was used to nor something he could easily understand. He was unsure of the words written in the next set of entries. How much had she written about him feeding her false hope? Or possibly blaming him for making her believe they had a chance at finding her little girl alive?

The thought made his gut turn and he quickly dismissed the idea of making an attempt at reading her journal that day. He knew he couldn't get around the next set of entries no matter what. He owed Carol that much to stomach reading the next few whether he liked it or not. He had decided in the morning, when the sun had crept out from the top of the forest, that he would read.

Daryl paced instead. He'd woken with a yawn and a pain in his neck, staring at the journal on the chair for most of an hour before he had gotten up. For most of the morning he had been pacing back and forth. He would stop on occasion thinking he would grab the journal and shove his nose into the pages, just knuckle-down and read, but he would cower at the thought of her words and return to his pacing with an absent shake of his head. Daryl Dixon afraid of a mousy woman's words? Pathetic. he scoffed realizing how stupid he was being. All the while the hound lay in the cabin watching his every move.

"You think I'm just bitchin' out over this whole fuckin' thing, don't ya?" Daryl groused as he glanced over at his new companion.

The dog licked its chops and adjusted to lying on its side, finding the coolness of the floor more enjoyable than its prior position. The dog trained its eyes back to the hunter as it let out a big yawn and a gentle whine.

"Asshole." Daryl huffed as he stopped his pacing for the umpteenth time that day. He raked his fingers through his hair, tousling it as he plopped down to the ground to sit.

Frustrated. That word seemed to not do him enough justice at this point in time. It seemed so diminutive in retrospect to say that he was frustrated with his current situation. If Carol could see him, he knew she would be able to see through his aloofness. She would waggle that knowing finger in his face and call him out on bullshit. She was good like that. Carol always could see through his tough exterior and his mean attitude.

Afraid. The word made his nose wrinkle in contempt. He was a lot of things but afraid was not one of them, especially in this new world. It had definitely suited him when he was a youngster growing up with the kind of Daddy that he did, but it wasn't now. Or he at least believed it did not pertain to him any longer; that was before Carol had stumbled into his life. She had given him a reason to be fearful of the future and all its uncertainties. The stark realization that there was more to surviving than going it alone made him more careful. The fact that he needed support despite his best efforts to keep himself unsullied in getting attached to another didn't sit well with him. He had always been better off alone. Even when Merle had been alive, things were often better when he just hadn't been around or simply missing. However, despite his desire to keep people at arms' length, companionship was something he had learned to appreciate over the course of the year with this group. It was the fibers that had held them together for so long and without it they fell apart.

Caged. That was another word that made him cringe. He had despised the cell block that they had chosen to settle down in. He felt like an animal with nowhere to run. Instead he had taken to the perch. He had been stuck in a cage his entire life with his Daddy. No amount of respite from the walkers that made their way behind the prison gates would allow him to swallow his pride and spend his days in another sort of cage. No amount of coaxing could make him accept that this was their home, besides maybe Carol who had made an otherwise subtle attempt.

He harrumphed in his recollection of the past and looked to the hound. As much as he did not want to take in the mangy thing, he knew he couldn't allow himself to let it get killed by walkers. He was a hard-ass, but not the kind to just idly watch an animal crudely get torn apart by groping hands and gnashing teeth. They had taken the dog in without hesitation and almost immediately the Beagle had become his shadow. Daryl still couldn't understand why the hound was so drawn to him, but it was and he had been thrust with the dilemma of a name. He hated giving things names. It just meant more pain when the thing was no longer there.

Daryl had mulled over several names that night trying find something suitable. The Beagle just seemed like a Ralph to him, but the dog didn't take to the name as expected and sleepily ignored Daryl's calls. He had considered the name Rowdy but the dog was neither rowdy nor stoic like the character of Rowdy Yates, so he scratched that off his list. Daryl gave up at that point. He would come up with something else to name the dog later. Bastard thing seemed to only listen when it best suit his needs.

He grinned a little but found the usual scowl settling his lips. Daryl covered his face with his hand gently massaging his temples. Carol didn't make these things easy, his mind drifting back to her journal that sat in his cabin. He never really expected this to be, but never anticipated that he would be fighting with his demons over the past. He felt the dog's warm tongue at his hand working his way down to his cheek, paws planted on his knees. The hunter pushed the Beagle off not wanting any more dog kisses. He wiped his hand on his pants and sighed.

"Fine."

Daryl got up, making his way into the cabin. He removed Carol's journal off the seat of the chair and sat in it himself, kicking his feet up on top of the panel. He held the leather book in his hands, fingers drumming against its cover. He did that a lot, he noticed. Being the uncertain kind of person that he was, the hunter found himself thrumming his fingers against her journal out of impatience, something he didn't do out of habit. This was something he had recently acquired and a little unsettling to say the least that her words had caused him to learn this new habit of his. Somehow poking at him that he cared what she said about him.

He let out a deep breath and thumbed through the pages to the next entry.

_•We found out today that there are walkers in the barn. I can't believe something like that was kept from us. I know Hershel believes that those things are sick 'people', but he doesn't understand. Once you're bit, you aren't 'you' anymore... You no longer belong to yourself; you're just this thing._

_I'm starting to doubt that we will find Sophia. Shane made it pretty clear that if we can't find a lead within 48 hours, then we won't find her at all. It's been five days since she went missing. All we have so far is her doll- We haven't found anything beyond that. Daryl still seems to think we will find her. Or at least, he's keeping up the notion that we will. Keeping up the hope. He went so far as to defend his search for Sophia when Shane just shrugged his attempts off as if it was for nothing, like she was already dead. Daryl looked like he was going to rip Shane's throat out after the shouting had subsided. That piercing stare he gave Shane- It sent shivers down my spine._

_I won't deny that I felt glad to have someone in my corner, but Shane's words got to me. I thought I had dismissed his words to keep them from inching their way under my skin, but I guess his words held more water than I believed. I'm starting to have my doubts. I don't think- I don't believe we are going to find her._

_In consequence, I think I may have forced that belief on to Daryl. He wanted to go looking for Sophia and I told him that he might not even find her. That I don't think we would. I don't even know why I said those things. Maybe I wanted him to stop believing that we would find her. Make it easy to forget that we tried so hard. Make it easier to deal with the pain when we simply did not find her. The minute I said that, he stopped what he was doing and looked at me. That same piercing stare. He looked upset that I had even uttered such words. That somehow I had offended him._

_I felt bad for saying those things to Daryl, but I didn't want him believing that we would find her when there was no more hope to latch on to. How could I support a search when even I started to doubt that we would find her- Alive if I wanted to be realistic. I'm starting to feel like everything we are doing is in vain, and yet- He makes me continue to believe. I admire his determination._

_It was a curious thing. He took me to the edge of the lake I had wandered near where there were Cherokee roses blooming. I felt the muscle around my heart tighten and it made me reconsider what I had said to him earlier. The roses rekindled my waning hope. He touched my shoulder for a split second and apologized about this morning having almost accidentally smacked me in the face and utilizing a few choice words. He wanted to look for her and I kept him from doing it._

_Why? I asked him. Why did he want to look for her so desperately? Why did he feel the need to go out day after day searching for a ghost?_

_"Because, I believe, she's still out there."_

_In all the weeks I have been in camp with this man, never have I once seen him smile. In that moment I saw the corners of his mouth tug up in the faintest of smiles. I could feel his hope in that moment. Daryl seems to be the only one who can give me the strength to keep believing. I need that right now. I need to keep that hope alive. I need to believe that we will find my Sophia._

_We will find her. I know we will.•_

Daryl snapped the book shut and set it down on the console panel. He buried his head in his hands. He was trying to resist grinding his teeth realizing that he had been feeding Carol false hope. All that time he had been making it worse for her to come to terms with the idea that Sophia was just gone. She wasn't coming back and they weren't going to find her alive. That he would have guaranteed, but he had ignored his cynical instincts and filled Carol with hope. His own foolish idea at trying to find a little girl that he knew was already lost. His selfish notion that he could fill that gaping hole of his own time when he had been lost in the woods. It had all been for his selfish gain and he had failed.

There were no other words to describe his attempts but a massive failure and he knew it. She had too. He could see it coming a mile away. It had all been a car wreck in the making and he finally got to see it for what it really was. As it had always been, right in front of their faces, a gruesome wreck on the side of the road that you couldn't pull your eyes away from.

The hound came up to Daryl settling its head in his lap, big brown eyes staring up at him trying to offer a comforting gesture. He would never understand how animals knew when a human was hurting but they did and Daryl was grateful for the dog in that moment. He gently pat the beagle on the head, a low thumping of its tail echoing in the small cabin, and reached out for Carol's journal once more.

He let out a shuddering breath knowing that this was the curtain call.

•_We found Sophia yesterday._

_Shane couldn't deal with the walkers being in the barn. I think what broke the camel's back was Rick coming back with a walker in a dog catcher's noose 'round its neck taking it to the barn to add to the collection of walkers inside. He broke down the doors letting them out. Dealing with the situation, as he would say._

_Everyone took them down, their guns at the ready: Andrea, T-Dog, Glenn and Shane- one by one as they filed out. Hershel and his family just watched as all their loved ones were killed before them. It was a massacre. And that's putting it in the most gentle of terms._

_Everything went quiet after the last one lurched out, its brains blasted to little bits of gray matter and then- she stumbled out of the barn with those scrawny little legs of hers. Her hands jerking about as she crookedly stepped over the bodies. Her head lilting at every sound and sob trying to find bearing in this new world she'd entered. You could still see the dead flesh dangling off her shoulder from the bite where the walker got its jaws into her. Her left shoulder- just like Rick had told her..._

_My heart broke in that instant. My stomach turning in knots over and over again. I felt like I was alone as I watched her move forward. There was no sound coming from anyone else but my stunted breaths as I felt the sobs starting to force their way out of my throat. My legs shook as I stood there watching her stagger. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran. I called out to her. Daryl stopped me before I could reach her. I wanted my baby. But he wouldn't let me have her. I wanted to hold her in my arms. He wouldn't let me hold her. But- he held me. He was holding me, keeping me safe from her. He was protecting me even if I didn't want to be. I just wanted her, my Sophia. I wanted to tell her that everything was going to be just fine. I wanted her to know how much I loved her._

_I remember calling out to her, hoping that my voice would return her to me. Maybe bring back her old self, that this was all just in my head, just a terrible nightmare. That God was simply testing me. Simply testing my faith in the Almighty. But I knew. This wasn't a nightmare. This was real. He wasn't testing me. I was really in the dirt on my knees begging for her, my baby, and Daryl was sitting with me; holding me back. I could feel his hand gently rubbing my shoulder with his rough, calloused hands; his body pressed against mine, trying to offer a sort of comfort in that moment. I wished he would have just let me go. I wished he would have stopped protecting me like I needed saving. I have nothing to fight for anymore. If not for her, then why for myself? I only wanted to protect her and keep her safe; I couldn't do that any longer._

_It was like a movie reel flickered before my eyes and every moment I had ever shared with her came whizzing by. Every word she had ever spoken to me was a mess of noise sailing through my ears. The gunshot echoed loud drowning out my head noise. The smoke trailed out from the barrel of his gun in a wispy stream. She fell limply to the ground. Rick shot her. No one had the nerve to step forward and take that shot. How ironic- He was the reason she got lost in the woods and he was the one to end her suffering._

_I was paralyzed by her lifeless body as it lay there sprawled amongst the dead. We collapsed in a heap, my head buried into the dirt as I sobbed out her name like a chant. I could feel Daryl's head fall to the middle of my back, his hot breaths in shaky puffs. This all couldn't be true. This just- I looked back up. Eyes scanning over Sophia hoping at any moment she would just sit up, giggle that soft laugh of hers I wished I had gotten to hear more often, and she would smile that wide grin of hers saying, "Sorry momma, didn't mean ta scare ya." But she never did get up and smile at me; she just lay there. Dead._

_I couldn't look away. Didn't want to. We had finally found her. All this time she had been rotting away in this barn. How long had she been out in the woods cowering after being bit wondering if we would find her? I felt Daryl jerk me to my feet as he struggled to stand on his own shaky legs. I was like a rag-doll in his arms. I couldn't move. I was just so fixed by Sophia's frail body just laying there. Daryl kept telling me not to look, but how could I not? I just watched my daughter get shot in the head. As if not looking would lessen the blow of what I had just borne witness to. He tried to help me up, but I thrashed out of his hold finally finding my legs. I cast a quick glance at the man that stood scowling at me and stormed off._

_I had felt their eyes begin to linger on me the moment Daryl let me go. I needed to get away from these eyes that looked at me with those somber looks. I hurried away, hearing a slight shuffle behind me. I went to hide in the RV after everything, I guess you could say, settled down. I just wanted to be left alone. I didn't want the others' kind words or their comforting touches. I just wanted to be by myself._

_What could they tell me otherwise to ease this kind of pain? None of them knew what it was like to lose a child. How could they understand what I was feeling? I had finally been given a second chance at a new life when Ed had been killed, but now, Sophia was gone. What more could I do now that I had nothing left to live for?_

_Daryl followed after me. He didn't leave me alone. In that moment, I don't think he could. Part of him might have felt guilty for dangling that bone in my face saying that Sophia would be fine. I don't know. Never bothered to ask. Daryl didn't say a word. He just sat on the sink and waited with me. As much as I didn't want him or anyone else in the RV with me- He somehow understood that I was grieving. I didn't need words or forced gestures. Daryl just knew I needed a comforting presence. For that I was grateful._

_I think I may have upset him though despite all the kindness he has shown me. I told Lori I didn't want to go to Sophia's funeral when she came to pull me away from the comfort of the RV. I felt that there was no point in attending. Daryl tried to reassure me that that was my little girl; that being reason enough to go. I stand by what I said to him. That wasn't her. That wasn't my Sophia. Just some "thing". She died the minute she went down that ravine, walkers chasing after her like some sickly little gazelle. Why mourn this lifeless monster that wore her clothes and looked like her? That's not my baby._

_He left after that. Daryl packed his tent up and moved it across the field near the outskirts of Hershel's land, near the dilapidated farm house. I don't blame him. I wouldn't want to be around me either._

_If only I had just watched her- Then maybe she would still be alive. Maybe, Sophia would still be here. And maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't feel responsible for being such a terrible parent.•_

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**A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review and share!**


	8. Chapter 8

White Blank Page

Well I did it again. I scrapped a chapter because I thought it was garbage. Hopefully being able to really sit and knuckle down on this will make it better. Seem to only be able to do this on my days off, which is few and far between nowadays. Enough of that, I hope you all enjoy it. Happy reading! Cheers!

Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.

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Chapter 8

_•I still don't know what I'm doing here, carrying on as I am like what happened at the barn didn't occur. My Sophia didn't stumble out from that barn—_

_But she did. And I saw._

_She's gone and there's nothing more for me to do. I don't have anyone. I'm alone in this world. I'm alone in this group of people who are treating me like I'm crazy. I don't understand how they can so easily forget what happened. I don't know. Maybe it's because I'm not actually acting like all this bothers me. Perhaps acting like nothing is wrong is encouraging them to keep going, just sweep this horrible event under the rug, starting anew. I've learned to cope with these things for years under Ed's rule, just shine it on like _**this**_ doesn't hurt— how pathetically weak._

_We're still waiting on Rick and Glenn's return. They've been gone since the barn incident. Hershel left to town and they haven't been back since. We're all worried, Lori especially. Granted she's more furious that he isn't back. Shane lied to her to get her to come home— stop her search. She'd taken Maggie's car and gone out to find Rick. She crashed the car and was attacked by walkers. It's a miracle Shane found her when he did or even at all._

_Lori's story bothered me some. Nothing about her, it was just— _**him**_._

_I went to him. I wanted to confront him about his role in the group. Despite our exchange of words earlier, there was something pulling me back to him._

_I'd already gone asking if he'd seen Lori earlier when we realized she had been missing, but he just scoffed at me that she'd probably gone on her own to find them. It took me several seconds to see that he had moved all his belongings away from camp, trying his damnedest to pull away from us, but still being at arm's reach. I whirled on him begging him to stop. I'd already lost my girl; hoping the implication wouldn't be lost on him. At that point he had gotten up, real close to my face and hissed, "Yeah that wasn't my problem neither." He stalked off into the woods, disappearing into the darkness._

_I couldn't just leave things at that. Shambles and fragments of what we were. I had to get him to understand._

_I went to him— He yelled. I listened. Let him holler at me 'till he was blue in the face. He was doing his best to break me, mold me back into that cowering, mousey thing of a woman I once was. I held fast. I didn't falter— not until my baby. Not until he put her in front of me, pointing out that I had failed, not only as a provider and a protector— but, furthermore, as a Mother. I hadn't done my obligatory duty of ensuring her survival. The one thing I had to do. The only thing I should have been able to do._

_And I couldn't even do it. That one little thing._

_He was angry. I wasn't sure with whom he was upset with more: myself or— himself? Somewhere in his berating, he'd slowly brought himself into the rant._

_"Sophia wasn't mine." He barked; that gleam of anger in his eyes held just for me._

_If she hadn't been his problem, then why did it bother him so much what happened to her? What was he really trying to say? When I didn't react to him, he made a lunge forward. I recoiled. Instinct. I thought he was really going to hit me. I snapped my eyes shut for a second, but felt no crack of his hand against my cheek. His hand wavered above his head as he continued to study me like a hawk, eyes locked on me as he slowly pulled back._

_I almost felt like if he had struck me that I deserved it. Maybe my presence was silently prodding at him that he had offered me nothing but empty promises and wishful thinking— false hope. That somewhere in all this I had come to blame him, point my finger at him, and tell him that he was just as much of a failure as I was._

_Not for one second do I blame Daryl._

_I still feel like this all just isn't real._

_I needed others to do what I had already been doing to myself— internally beating myself up. Perhaps I sought Daryl out tonight because I knew he was going to hurt me. Not physically, but verbally. Force me to feel something. Help me to understand that this was all very real and that I was alone._

_Sophia is gone. What more do I have now?•_

Daryl didn't move. He just sat outside the guard tower cabin with her journal still splayed in his lap, fingers delicately thumbing the next page, eyes scanning the same phrase over and over again. He figured if he reread it till the words were burnt into his retinas that maybe somehow the words would unscramble themselves and reveal the real words that he only knew she meant. Her statement was all the same no matter what.

She didn't blame him.

Despite how close they had gotten in recent months, he had still felt a twinge of guilt that somehow she still held resentment for what he hadn't done. For forcing his hope on her.

There it was though. Clearly written in her half-looped handwriting.

_"Not for one second do I blame Daryl."_

He vigorously raked a hand through his hair, lip curling up, trying to stifle the incredulous smile that was forcing itself across his lips. All this time he had thought that she felt he was responsible for Sophia. He wanted to kick himself but knew that wouldn't do any good. It wouldn't matter since he could do nothing about it. He couldn't ask why she never blamed him or even apologize for assuming she had been resentful of him for it. Carol was dead. She wasn't coming back neither.

Daryl let out a shuddered sigh as he began massaging his brows, biting his lip. His heart felt heavy. His body twitchy, a swelling anxiety in the pit of his gut.

All these years his Daddy had been dead, yet somehow he still managed to edge his way into his head. Make him believe he was the piece of shit he thought himself to be— _believed_ himself to be. Carol was too forgiving. Where she had garnered that strength from he wouldn't know. She had always been considered the weak link in their group, heading the menial chores like cooking and laundry, but frankly without her they would have lost their consistency and what little semblances of their old lives they desperately clung to.

Reading her entry brought about his own old turmoils. He remembered hollering in her face, getting closer than he wanted, making attempts to scare her away. He didn't want nobody looking to him as if he would make things better. He didn't want nobody trying to care for him. If he had nobody that wanted him then things like that wouldn't hurt so much.

Daryl could still visualize the way her lip quivered at the words he threw at her, their sting evident in the way her lashes fluttered slightly trying to prevent tears she was holding back. Her eyes were a brilliant blue the way the redness in the whites of her eyes forced the color to stand out like bright jewels. He wanted to tear her down. She had thrown everything in his face when she had refused to attend the funeral. All his time spent out searching, the pain he had shouldered clambering up the ravine and back to the farm. Perhaps the worst being that Carol had felt that his time had been for nothing with that one refusal.

He had been angry. He wanted to hit her. He couldn't do it though. Daryl knew in that moment when he had raised his hand that he had crossed the line. He had crossed a line he never wanted to step over. He had become like his Daddy in that singular moment and regretted it. He'd seen how Carol recoiled back, her head snapping up like she had already been struck, the glint of blue from out of the corner of her eyes still unwavering and unaccusing. She knew what it was like. She understood. Daryl never wanted that for himself. Exerting power over another to prove his own self-worth, that wasn't him and it never would.

Striking women was something he never did and he sure as hell wasn't going to start all because he couldn't control his temper in that moment. Sure Carol didn't so much as flinch most of the duration of his yelling and that had unnerved him, but it didn't warrant him striking her because of it. She was reacting just as he had whenever his Daddy came after him. It was her defense mechanism and she had only been reacting out of a forced habit.

Stoic mind and the fear hidden deep in their eyes. They were the same down to the scars on their bodies and the stories they never told.

The thought that Carol recoiled from him as if he were her deceased husband left an unsettling burst of disgust that had crept up into his throat, thick and sickening to the taste. That wasn't him. He had become what he had tried for so long to never be. The one thing he had been utterly disgusted with: men that beat on women to exude their dominance.

Daryl snorted, shaking his head. After his exchange of words with Carol, he stormed off into the woods. He remembered the pain. He looked down at his knuckles, fingers delicately running over the faint traces of scarred tissue scattered across the rugged skin. He remembered beating his fists into an unsuspecting tree, anger still brimming at the collar. After he had felt the warmth of his blood trickle down his knuckles, skin shredded and bruised, he swore he would never cross that line again. He was afraid of becoming like his old man and he had taken that sudden step in that direction.

He reached into his pockets looking for his newly acquired packet of cigarettes. He popped a cigarette into his mouth and struck the match he had against the box, watching as the tiny flame faltered in the wind. He brought the tip to the flame as it flared to life, taking a drag and letting out a stream of smoke out through his nostrils.

Daryl shut his eyes for a moment listening to the gentle rustle of trees behind him, clanging of limbs being run across the chain link fence below. The world around him was calm. Internally he was a spiral of mixed emotions and frustrations. There was no resolve to his problems. They had all been left open after Carol had gone.

He resented her for leaving.

It wasn't her fault though. She had been protecting the group. Her friends. _Her family. _It had been all to protect what she loved and cared about the most. If he looked at it as an equation, he was a variable in that formula that she had felt worthy of caring about. He was included in that list of people she cared and, hell, even _loved_.

He felt like he was on the verge of gagging.

Daryl hated himself in that moment. The realization that it had all been so they could survive was the ever-present stake being hammered repeatedly into his heart that he had been selfish. He gave no fucks the day the Governor had tried taking the Prison. All he had seen was his moment of revenge. That one second that he had taken to ram his knife into the Governor's other still working eye had been the only thing buzzing in his head. The rage-drunken stupor he had felt when the blood had gushed down his hands and that undeniable curdling scream echoing loud through the Prison halls had been all he was looking for.

Then the world went quiet around him. The silence was eerily calm. In the back of his head he could hear the fuzzy screaming and crying. That was when he had seen Rick and Glenn hurrying out of the cell-block. There was no relief of triumph on their faces. Just the looks of terror and sadness. He had spied Carol slumped up against a wall, head drooping onto her shoulder, her chest struggling to take in oxygen. The image was reminiscent of when he had found her in the tombs.

It hadn't been the same.

Carol didn't get up. She didn't move. She didn't beg. He had put the gun to her head. The words were caught in his throat. He had wanted to tell her, but he couldn't. Even now with the thoughts tumbling over and over in his head, the words were lost to him. All he had wanted to say and he couldn't even offer her that. He hadn't said a damn thing to her and he knew he had fucked up.

He had been the fucked up one all along. He couldn't even say one little thing. After all they had been through and he had pussied out.

"_I'm sorry."_

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**A/N: Thanks for reading and if you would kindly, please leave a review!**


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